


Paper Thin

by Daiako (Achrya)



Series: Shadows Even in the Dark [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Blood, Crying, Demons, Fae & Fairies, M/M, Secrets, Serious Injuries, Were-Creatures, Witches, vaguely suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-09-28 05:59:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10075373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Achrya/pseuds/Daiako
Summary: Summary: Gladio knew that dying was inevitable. When you lived your life for others that was just the nature of the beast. And yet he never thought it would end with him lying in the dirt, bleeding out with Prompto hovering above him and crying like someone was ripping his heart out.It’s not a bad way to go, all told.(Part Two is for Promptio Week: Mythical Creatures)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sooooo. Where do I start? @lhugbereth sent a ask for Promptio Hurt/Comfort. And this. This happened. I decided to have a daemon kill Gladio. And then shit went wildly out of control. O_O 
> 
> Urban Fantasy AU, sort of in the theme of Shadowhunters. Fairy tales. Actual fairies? Blood and grievous injury. Tears are shed. There’s going to be more because. Well. There’s a lot of room for more. 
> 
> Pre-Promptio, Ignoct if you squint. 

 

Gladio knew death was inevitable. Not in the lame nihilistic or fatalistic way that had plagued him as a teenager and into his twenties, that sullen ‘everything dies so why should I care?’ way. No, he meant it in the ‘if you put yourself between people in danger, if you swear to protect others, if you call yourself the shield and embrace what that means, then death will find you’ way. The way he'd come to terms with when he was 23 and standing outside his father's empty tomb, another Shield laid to rest with honors, wishing he'd been less of a prick in the end.

Wishing he hadn't doubted Noctis and distanced himself from his father and skirted his responsibilities because, as it turned out, when it was over it was over. There was no apologizing to a dead man burned on pyre alongside his king and fellow guard. There was just stepping into his shoes (impossible to fill), getting his shit together (five years later and he was still working on that), and doing his best.

There was waiting until it was his turn.

He thought about dying what he considered a normal amount, all things considered. He wondered how long he'd keep scraping by, how long he'd fight, when and how it would happen. What it would be like. He figured it'd be in the heat, looking up at the stars, knowing he'd given everything to protect those he was meant to protect.

It was as worthy a death as anyone in his family line could ask for.

His chest was burning, pouring blood in dark waves that had soaked his shirt (what was left of it) in seconds. It burned, like fire was slipping from between the sliced apart flesh instead of blood, and he felt the wound pulling and straining every time he breathed. One of his arms was numb from the shoulder down, skin and sleeve looking like dyed red ribbons, and blood seeped down the pommel and blade of his weapon.

He wasn’t completely sure how he still had it in his hands, since he couldn’t actually feel himself gripping it, let alone how he’d managed to keep swinging at the slavering daemon. That he’d more or less won, had the thing pinned to the ground with his blade jammed through it’s stomach, nearly bisecting it, was a total mystery. But he’d done it and that mattered. This one was the leader, the alpha wolf, who’d been leading a feral pack to tear people apart as if they were wild dogs.

And yet it didn’t matter because he’d failed.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Prompto, clutching his bleeding side and staring at him with eyes so wide they seemed to be swallowing his face.

He’d made a mistake.

He and Prompto had been together, hunting out the nest, and the alpha had gotten the drop on them. A good three meters tall, wider than Gladio was, all muscle, teeth and claws, and capable of moving so silently it was unfair. One minute they’d been peering up at a ramshackle house in the middle of nowhere and the next he’d been throwing himself between Prompto and flashing claws.

He hadn’t even thought about it, just acted, took the skin and muscle tearing attack with his arm then another to the chest when he’d attacked back (he had managed to remove the wolf’s arm rather neatly in the process), and nearly passed out from the pain. And from being picked up one handed and tossed a good six meters like he was nothing more than an annoying ragdoll, the sound of Prompto’s screaming ringing in his ears.

He’d taken too long to get up, been too slow to charge back in, and even though he could tell Prompto had landed his shots, left the wolf with bleeding holes full of silver, the blond had still taken a glancing blow to the side.

And that was all it took with shifters. They had the Starscourge Venom in their teeth and claws and it only took a little making it into the blood to either kill you or turn you. Prompto was wounded, no doubt already had the venom coursing through his veins, and that meant Gladio had failed.

Maybe Ignis could stabilize him. Maybe they would get Prompto to the Fey, to the Lady Lunafreya, in time. Maybe it would work out and it would turn out he’d managed to do his duty. Gladio knew he wouldn’t be around to see it.

His sword faded into nothingness, headed back to Noctis, between one ragged breath and the next as warm liquid copper coated his tongue and teeth. The ground should have been bitterly cold, it was the middle of winter after all, but he didn’t feel it when he hit it. The world went gray and the stars were darker than he remembered.

And then there was Prompto, hovering above him, hands on his chest and pressing hard. Gladio wanted to push his hands away, keep him untouched by the blood, but his body was much too heavy to move. He was stone, stiff and weighed down, and all he could do was breath as he watched fat tears run down Prompto’s face.

It was not cute at all. Kind of ugly actually, with that stupid pouty lip trembling, skin on his chin, forehead, and between his eyes wrinkled up, pale skin made red and splotchy with his distress, blood sprinkled across his face like extra freckles, eyes already bloodshot.

He was talking, “You shouldn’t have done that, why did you do that, don’t do this.” falling from his lips in the way Noctis said his more complicated spells, a whispered chant full of emotion, of want. But Prompto was no magic user, wasn’t going to will Gladio to live just because he wanted it.

Prompto was like him, a human in a world of monsters. Gladio had always had...complex feelings where the blond was concerned. He didn’t understand what had made Noctis bring a human into their world, why he’d made Prompto part of his guard. Gladio had been born into it, a descendent of a idealistic man who’d pledged his life and the life of all his children to another man full of vision and dreams, and he accepted that for what it was. (The story was the original Shield hadn’t expected to ever have children let alone have them standing next to the Lucis-Caelum bloodline some hundred and thirteen generations later.) But Prompto had just been a kid, a clumsy goofy kid with stupid hair and a too big smile, who’d been way over his head.

Gladio didn’t think he’d ever understand what Noctis had seen in Prompto all those years ago. Had he known that Prompto would have unfaltering loyalty, that he’d break his own bones and shed blood for Noctis, that if they put a gun in his hands he’d learn to be deadly and cold, that he’d offer empathy and kindness to victims that the rest of them failed at. (They lacked a connection to humanity, had all been too far removed from the average citizen of Lucis.)

Had Noctis known Prompto would be invaluable?

Had he known that, eventually, Gladio wouldn’t hesitate to lay down his life in exchange for Prompto’s. 

Maybe. The Witches of Lucis had been a strange breed since The Wise, or so the stories went.

Prompto touched his face and leaned down to bring their foreheads together. Gladio couldn’t feel it, everything was cold, prickling numbness, but he saw it through the growing darkness. He blinked once, twice, thought idly that Prompto was glowing like he was made of starlight, then closed his eyes one last time.

It was, Gladio decided as everything dropped away, not that bad of a sight to end things on. In fact he couldn’t think of anything better. 

\---

Gladio had grown up with the same fairy tale about the beginning of the world as everyone else, though unlike most he knew it wasn’t a fable or an attempt of ancient man to explain the world. He knew it was the truth.

In the beginning there were seven gods, born of collapsing stars and forced out into the nothingness of the universe.

Together those gods made Eos and separately they made the Original Seven Races in their image.

Bahamut, the Draconian, the King, the Unbending, made the Dragons. They were like mountains, great, deadly, and terrible, and Greed burned in their hearts.

Ifrit, the Betrayer, the Fickle, the Furious, made the Shifters. They had beasts under their skin, fire in their blood, and Wrath consumed their hearts.

Shiva, the Glacian, the Gentle, the Bright, made the Fey. They had stars in their eyes, moonlight in their blood, and Pride in their hearts.

Ramuh, the Fulgarian, the sharp, made the Vampires. They were as changing as the weather and their unbeating hearts knew only Gluttony.

Leviathan, the Hydraean, the Relentless, the Cruel, made the Succubi and Incubi. They were cold, unfeeling, and Lust was all that stirred their hearts.

Titan, the Archaean, the steadfast, made the Sprites. They were calm, thoughtful, as steady as Eos herself, and Sloth slowed their hearts.

Etro, the Reaper, the silent, the compassionate, made the Witches. Weaker of body but brimming with power, never satisfied, always craving, hearts made hollow by Envy.

And so it was that the Seven Races existed and fought, endless war under the watchful eyes of their makers, until Ifrit intervened where the Astrals had sworn they would not and set Eos aflame. The others stood against their brother, tried to tame his flames and beat back his children, driven mad with his blessing and able to impose a terrible curse with their bite and scratch, and when the smoke had cleared there were ashes left behind. Eos was scorched, dying, what remained of the races huddled in fear of what had been wrought.

It was Etro who brought life back. She wept in her sorrow and Eos healed. She pitied the Seven Races, even the shifters, and from her pity came an immunity to the harm they could cause to each other. Her heart bleed and from it Humans crawled forth, small and weak and powerless, flawed in many ways, numerous and wicked and kind and terrified and determined. They spread over Eos, tore asunder what remained of the older races, and took their places as the rulers of the world.

It is here that Human history says the Seven Races, now called Daemons, ended. It is here that the Astrals went silent. It is here that magic is lost.

Gladio knew differently. It is here that what was left of the Seven hid, made a world under the surface of the world, in plain sight yet shadowed. And it was some years later that The Wise, the first ‘King’ of Lucis founded Insomnia, one of the biggest mixed cities on Eos. The Daemons still hid away from the Humans but they weren’t underground or in caves in the desert, barely scraping by.

They had homes and jobs, lived in the open and yet hidden away.

It was Insomnia that the First Shield, a human who saw the other world and believed in the idea of a mixed world, bound himself and all those who would come after with blood and magic and the blessing of Etro herself to The Wise.

There were more cities now, other ‘Kings’ of the Daemon races who gave their kind better lives while using their power to keep Humans none the wiser. And there were Hunters, who policed the Daemons, cleaned up messes, put them down when they went feral or decided they didn’t like life in the shadows.

There were few humans who knew and even fewer who stood as Hunters. They were vulnerable to all of the Daemons, could be turned by Shifters and Vampires, thralled by Succubi, Dragons, and Fey, have spells laid on them by Witches.

Gladio had always taken pride in what he was, in being able to fight even though he was only human, and wanted to be nothing else. He stood beside them, in their world, but he wasn’t one of them and that suited him just fine.

\---

“Have you ever thought about, you know, doing more?” Prompto had asked once at entirely too early in the fucking morning, leaning out over the balcony of Noct’s penthouse. It was one of the last sunrises they saw from there; they’d moved to the Citadel a few weeks later.

The Daemon parts of the city were going to sleep, tucking themselves away as the sun came out, and the Human parts were coming to life. He could see the first of the commuters, people in suits, clutching their coffee and their briefcases as they rushed to catch the first trains.

Gladio looked up from where he was winding bandages around his calf. Ignis had offered to heal it but sometimes he liked to do it the normal way, to feel the pain and be reminded that he had to do better. “More?”

Prompto didn’t look back at him; he tilted his head back to turn his face towards the sun. “Yeah. Ignis uses Noct’s magic to heal and all that elemental stuff. He said I could probably learn too, doesn’t matter what I am since it comes from Noct. I was thinking I could...do more.”

Gladio frowned hard, a shiver running up his spine. “Nah. You start poking around with that stuff and you can’t stay human anymore. That door doesn’t close once you open it up.”

Prompto glanced back at him. “So? Noct and Iggy aren’t human. Does it matter-”

“‘Course it matters.” Gladio said, shaking his head.

“But if it helps-”

“You’ll be a monster, like the things we hunt.” Lucis had been slowly going to hell since Regis had died and the Emperor had moved in, stripping Noctis of his birthright as ‘King’. Insomnia was one of the only places that was still ‘right’, Noctis’ magic shielding it from the worst of what was out there. “You won’t be yourself anymore, people who turn never are. You might not want to help people anymore, maybe you’ll go feral. Maybe we’ll have to put you down.”

Prompto stared up at him, eyes wide. “Gladio-”

“Leave it alone kid.” He said it firmly, left no room for argument. “The last thing the world needs is more Daemons in it.”  

He’d cornered Ignis and chewed him later that day, told him to stop putting stupid ideas in Prompto’s head. He got that Ignis was as emotional as a rock and only did things with logic in mind (and usually Gladio related to that and tried to live the same way) but that didn’t mean he could go around coaxing Prompto into doing something like getting into magic. Prompto wasn’t that much younger than them but at the same time he was so...different.

He’d do anything if he thought it would save a few more people and that was good and noble and Gladio didn’t want to ever see that change in him.

Ignis had given him a long considering look then nodded and promised him it wouldn’t be spoken of again.

\---

Death, as it turned out, was loud as fuck. And hot. And it hurt badly. Gladio felt like he was dying (ironically) body consumed by fire from the inside and flowing out, nerves burning to nothingness, blood boiling, lungs and mouth full of molten metal, heat raging behind his eyes. He writhed and screamed, or thought he did at least, and could think of nothing but the pain.

The things he heard meant nothing.  

_“There’s nothing I can do Noctis. The venom has made it to his heart.” A sweet voice, as melodic was it was apologetic, and it made everything glow silver and white. “I am...I am so sorry.”_

Darkness came and relief didn’t come with it, just different degrees of pain and noise.

_“Should we call Iris?”_

_“I...no. Not yet. Not until we know for sure if he’s going to-”_

_“He’s going to wake up.” A rueful chuckle. “He is too stubborn to let a rabid dog kill him.”_

_“Right. ...Right.”_

It was hard to breath, the air dry and desert hot, tearing up his throat. His bones cracked and shattered, pulled back together all wrong, turned to dust while his insides burst and seeped, pushed against his melting skin, it hurt it hurt it hurt-

_“What if...fey dust?” Tentative, nervous, he imagined the voice curling in on itself in preparation for rejection._

_A tired sigh. “No, Prompto. If Gladio knew we’d gone looking for fey dust, let alone used it on him, he’d murder us.”_

_“What if I could get it without all the shady stuff. A volunteer.”_

_“Oh?” Sharp, assessing. “You know a fey who is going to let you kill them so you can cut off their wings in hopes of maybe healing a hunter?”_

_“I-”_

A shift and the world jumped, brightened around the edges.

_“Hey Gladio.” Tired, so tired, the voice was so tired. “I know I said that I’d never bring you back, if you died but...well. I lied. If you die I will bring you back and put you on ghoul duty until the end of time. Grave digging, body part retrieval, pus gathering, the whole gross bit. so. yeah. Think about that. Jerk. ...You made Prompto cry. What kind of asshole does that?”_

A shudder, a flare of anger in him, the regret and -

_“It is the accepted theory that the longer someone infected with Starscourge sleeps the less likely they are to wake.” The voice was an accented drone, careful and measured as if reciting something. “And that even if they do wake that the beast inside is more likely to devour them, though it is more likely a result of the fever affecting the brain than any actual influence from Ifrit. Three days is considered the maximum that one can suffer through the fever without ill effects.” A pause and a sigh. “Gladio, it has been five days, which is patently ridiculous. You’re behaving worse than Noctis.”_

Another burst of anger, a rumble of offense deep in his chest that made pain crawl over his skin as if insects had burrowed into it.

_“I’m sorry.” Sorrow, thick and sparkling like stars in the sky. “I should have told you the truth. If you had known, if someone had known...I just. I was scared. I didn’t know and then I knew and...what was I supposed to say? I don’t...I don’t know. Just-”_

Hands touched him, slipped around to cradle one of his between them.

_“I’m going to get fey dust. Iggy and Noct told me not to but it’s been a week. Iris keeps calling, Talcott keeps dropping by and- what are they going to do if you don’t wake up? So I’m going to do it. I won’t...I won’t be back so I need you to know-”_

Gladio woke up.

His eyes opened, dry and gritty, and a noise like glass being ground to dust left his throat. Trying to move, wanting to not be on his back, made his muscles, his bones, hell his fucking teeth, scream in protest. His head was pounding, like Regis and his father’s death parades were marching between his ears at the same time.

The hands holding his own squeezed his hard. “You...you’re-Gladio!”

‘Yes, that’s my name’ was on the tip of his tongue but the words were thick, unwieldy, and his mouth tasted like he’d licked a rotting ghoul's ass. Instead he forced himself to turn, to look at Prompto and see with his own eyes that he was alive and in one piece.

Not bleeding from a gash in his stomach Gladio should have never allowed to happen in the first place.

They were both here, awake and alive and Gladio’s heart hurt because that could only mean one thing. They’d survived but they’d turned, were well on the way to being daemons and Shifters at that. Huge, stupid, slobbering rage monsters who were so far from control that they couldn’t keep their bodies from changing on the moon. Who rampaged in the dark and tore the flesh from humans and other daemons while they were still alive to eat.

Beasts. Little better than actual animals, more like to go feral than any of the others. Most of the humans who were turned woke up insane, killed in their human skin, screamed and raved about howling in their head and blinding pain in their bones.

Of the ones who woke up ‘sane’ most lost it on their first True Moon. Ifrit’s wrath lived in them and came free on the moon, took them over, and no matter how well meaning they might have been they all ended up having to be put down just the same.

It was kinder to end them before they woke up.

He needed to apologize. To beg Prompto to forgive him for not being fast enough, for letting him become a monster too-

His thoughts derailed dangerously, tripping over each other in a messy heap. Prompto was on his feet, clutching his hand, staring at him with tears in his eyes. Wings stretched out behind him. Big wings that almost looked like leaves, if leaves were rice paper thin, ivory white and translucent, the veins in them delicate and silver. The weak morning light coming through the window hit them, fractured and cast rainbows over the walls and floor and across the stark white sheets around Gladio’s body.

Prompto dropped his hand, eyes going round and mouth opening into a startled O. His wings trembled.

Gladio’s head pounded.

“I-I-...Gladio-”

“You’re Fey.” The words were dust dry, tasted sour in his mouth, and crumbled when they hit the air. Prompto jerked back, staring at him like he’d grown a second head (which. Who knew? Shifters were a diverse bunch and being turned by a wolf meant very little in the long run. He could end up being anything. If he lived long enough to change.)

Prompto swallowed then nodded slowly, tears threatening to spill over again. “I’m...I should have told you. I should have. I never thought you’d jump in front of a wolf for me, I’ve told you I’m not worth protecting but you-”

“You’re immune.” Gladio said, a knot he hadn’t known was there loosening in his chest. Shifters couldn’t infect other daemons, had lost that ability when Etos remade the world. “You’re _immune_.”

Prompto made a strange screeching noise that hurt Gladio’s ears. He cringed, eyes shutting as pain sliced through his brain, and then the air was knocked out of his body. Prompto’s body collided with his own, hitting him with enough force to make his sore bones rattle, but drops of liquid were hitting his chest where the blond’s face were so he gritted his teeth and bore it.

He’d felt worse. Prompto was warm and shaking and smelled like pine and grass, soothing, and that was actually nice. He breathed in, blinking slowly, and lifted his arm to pat Prompto on the back, assuming he could find a place and where had he been hiding these wings? They were big, three on each side, the bottom one long enough that the tips brushed the back of Prompto’s legs and the top one reaching far above his shoulders. He was wearing a shirt that had the back cut out, allowing the wings to be spread open, but he’d never worn anything like that before. 

There was no way he’d been smuggling those under his shirt. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Prompto said against his skin, clinging to him. Gladio touched him carefully, rubbed a circle between his shoulder blades like he did for Iris when she was upset, and let himself breathe out. 

Then frowned, eyes sweeping over his arm. It was all in one piece, the skin intact and the dark ink perfect and smooth. The tattoo looked, honestly, as good as it had after it had first healed up, the feathers pristine, hugging his skin, so lifelike he half expected them to move when the wind blew. The runes, tiny but strong, containing all the knowledge the Shields who had come before him had gained and all the protection they could offer, thrummed with familiar warmth. 

Impossible. 

Even with Ignis’ best work, even with Noctis feeding him magic, even with every curative at their disposal, there was no way he could be healed like this. No way his tattoo could be unaffected; he could still feel the hot slice of claws digging in, shredding muscle and sinew, scraping the bone, and the cold snap of the runes being destroyed. 

He’d never had any against Shifters. Oversight, arrogance really, because Shifters were basically animals, creatures of magic but without magic of their own, beasts that could be put down with a little silver and some brute strength. 

And that’s what he was now. There was no way he could let himself make it to the moon, couldn’t begin to fathom why they hadn’t let him die out on the cold ground.

Ignis, at the very least, knew better. ...but if Noctis had asked him to put aside common sense Ignis would, every time, without fail. If he had one flaw it was that he gave Noctis too much slack, babied him really, let him do stupid things so long as Noctis was happy. 

There was no reason for Gladio to be alive. 

Except. 

Prompto was immune. That meant he hadn’t needed Gladio to protect him from being turned, just from being killed. That meant Gladio hadn’t failed. That was worth waking up for, wasn’t it? 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladio recovers. He and Ignis go to work. ...it goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Promptio Week Day 2: Mythical Creatures

That feeling of being so grateful that Prompto was alive and well that nothing else mattered didn't last long. In fact it survived roughly until Prompto went to collect Noctis and Ignis and let them know he was alive and awake. From there, under Ignis pinched expression and Noct’s pale faced worry, cold reality returned. He'd been mauled by a wolf shifter, and rather viciously at that. The poison, the virus, that only daemons could spread had gotten to him. 

He was infected with Starscourge and not just that, because that would be too easy and nothing was ever easy for him. Instead he'd been infected by a shifter, which made his strain of the Starscourge the most dangerous.

Starscourge killed over half of those who became infected before the fever even set in, their bodies simply unable to cope with the posion. Of those that remained about 75% would succumb to the fever, either passing on from the strain on their body or never waking up from the sleep the virus put them into. Those that did wake would usually wake up feral, more animal than anything else, out of control with the need to give in to that which drove them (wrath for shifters. Gluttony in vampires. Lust in the Incubi and Succubi, though it was worth noting that in those cases the humans didn’t truly turn. Rather they became puppets, thralls, forever bent to their new masters will.) The longer one stayed in the fever sleep the more likely they were to lose their minds and need to be put down. 

Three days was, in shifters, considered the max a person could sleep without waking up changed. After a week it was considered hopeless; what woke up might wear human skin and peer out at the world with human eyes but no humanity would lay within. The scourge was always eager to bond with its new host if it could, eager to take them over, and the longer it had to rampage free the more likely that became.

The longer one slept the more powerful they were to be. In shifters this manifested in the animal forms they would take on. The stories say that while one slept the Starscourge ate at their wrath, devoured the rage in their heart, and only when there was nothing left would the fever break. The more the virus ate the stronger it became and the deeper it sunk its claws into the human it was taking over. The stronger it became the stronger the form it would grant to the human. Wolves, generally accepted to be the top of the shifter food chain, often woke up so far gone they couldn’t speak and had forgotten their own names and even then they rarely slept longer than a week. 

Gladio had slept for nine days. Lady Lunafreya had come and sat at his bedside, too late to purge the Starscourge from him but more than willing to lend her healing magic, trying to fight back the worst of the fever. Ignis had worked his magic as best he could, bolstered by Noctis feeding him all the magic he had to spare and much he didn’t, neither sleeping or budging from his side for days, long after Luna had left to return to her people. Prompto hovered, wiping him down with cool clothes, keeping fluids in him. 

In spite of all of that his fever had burned so hot his friends had all been sure, though they never dared to speak the words, his body would give out. At the very least, Ignis stated as he asked Gladio questions to asses his memory and reasoning, they’d been sure his brain would be reduced to so much soup.

Ignis had always had a real way with words. When Gladio told him, words a harsh growl and anger burning in his blood, that they should have left him to die the incubus only flashed him one of his rare toothy smiles, fangs on full display, before tartly informing him that Noctis hadn’t wanted him dead and giving Noctis what he wanted was more important than Gladio’s issues. 

“And by issues,” He’d added, pupiless green eyes glowing in the dim light of Gladio’s room. “I mean whatever you have going on inside of you that kept the Starscourge fed for nine days. And whatever self-pity you want to drown yourself in due to your turning. Or so Noctis says.” 

Gladio groaned and fell back onto the bed. “Fuck Noctis. …wait.” 

He was on his feet in a few days, completely healed and, in fact, feeling better than ever. He was stronger, faster, hit harder. He sparred with Nyx and was able to knock the dragon flat on his ass with minimal effort (and was promptly picked up and slammed into a wall so hard it cracked behind him, then peeled himself up and walked away from it none the worse for wear.). He sparred with Ignis and actually managed to land some hits when the incubus was going all out. 

“You’ll get faster.” Ignis stated as they sat on the edge of the mat, sweat soaked and breathing hard. Gladio could hear not just his heart beating but the blood rushing through his veins. He could smell the sweat on him, taste the salt on his tongue. “You’re only just starting to change right now. Between now and your first moon I expect your strength and speed will at least double and after that who knows.”

Gladio had always been good. When his ancestor had sworn loyalty to the Lucis Coven he had received a boon of blood and magic in return. It wasn’t much in comparison to the things they fought against, but that and tireless training had pushed the Shields of Lucis to the peak of what a human could hope to attain. Gladio had been proud of that, proud that he could stand against daemons with his muscles, his weapons, and his will and walk away with his life. Daemons played on a whole different level but he'd managed to step up to the plate in spite of that.

Now...now he was something else. He didn’t even know what yet, wouldn’t know until the moon forced his first full shift, but he could feel that it would be something terrible. Something he wouldn’t have any hope of controlling. Nothing formed over nine days could be good for anyone and yet no one was doing anything about. There was no discussion about how they should have let him die, no plans for how to keep him contained on the moon, seemingly no concern about his rapid development. 

“Maybe you’ll be a dragon.” Prompto suggested one night over dinner. “Is that a thing?” 

“No.” Nyx was quick to say though Gladio couldn’t keep from noticing the slightly wary look the dragon laid on him. “That’s impossible.” 

“Impossible?” Ignis echoed, eyebrow raising. “Why’s that?” 

Nyx was quiet for so long that Gladio began to suspect he didn’t actually have a reason before finally turning to the side, arms crossed over his chest, and grumbling. “That would be double dipping. You can’t be two different daemons at once. It’s not fair.” 

“Oh.” Noctis nodded solemnly as he not at all stealthy shifted a pile of zucchini from his plate to Prompto’s. “That’s a convincing argument.” 

Crowe chuckled then leaned across the table, slitted eyes bright and sharp teeth showing. “If you turn out to be the first ever dragon shifter you can join our flight. It means pretending to listen to Nyx-”

“Hey!” 

“Don’t lie to him.” Libertus scoffed before winking at Gladio. “We don’t even pretend to listen to Nyx.” 

The matter of what might be lurking beneath Gladio’s skin was lost in favor of teasing Nyx. No one seemed to notice he hadn’t actually joined in on the conversation or that he left the room shortly thereafter, meal untouched. His steak was unappealing, as was everything except the near raw meat he’d been sneaking into the kitchen at night to just barely cook enough to be warm, and the conversation turned his stomach even more sour. He didn’t understand how they could be so unconcerned, so casual, about what had happened. 

He dreamed every night. In them he changed, shifted under a red tinted moon, body twisting and growing until it became too big for his human skin and he burst open like rotting fruit left out in the sun. The thing he became was like no animal that existed, a twisted half form abomination, skinless and dripping with black ichor. It lumbered and each step was agony, every breath needles clawing up his throat and lungs. 

All he knew in those dreams was rage and hunger. All around him stood his friends, his family, his allies, and one by one by tore through them, plucked the flesh from their still screaming bodies and shoved into the twisted chasm that had become his mouth. He cracked their bones and sucked down the marrow, licked their blood from his lips, and then left them broken and writhing to move on to the next. 

He woke up not screaming but growling and, on one terrifying occasion, roaring so loudly the windows had rattled. Nyx, Luche, and Libertus were the ones to poke their heads into his room and while they were in their human forms and their weapons were nowhere to be seen he could read the tightness in their shoulders and the worry in the slant of their smiles. 

They’d been ready to kill him if it was needed.

He looked in the mirror after they’d left, frowning at his once brown eyes now lightened to a polished amber, and knew he was no dragon. 

Ignis had him back to work within two weeks. They needed to visit one of the Daemon Block, where daemons and humans who knew about the world beneath the world mingled, and speak to a nymph Lady Lunafreya believed to be ‘acquiring’ fey dust for the emperor, by way of snatching child and teenage fey off the street and plucking their wings then leaving them to wither on the streets. 

Gladio wanted to say no, he wasn’t ready, couldn’t be trusted, shouldn’t be allowed out of the citadel, but when he tried to form the words he couldn’t stop his mind from conjuring an image of Prompto with his rice paper thin wings. 

They hadn’t talked about the fact that Prompto was not the human he pretended to be. In fact they hadn’t talked much at all since Gladio had woken up and hadn’t been alone together once. He didn’t want to say he was actively avoiding Prompto...but he was actively avoiding Prompto. Gladio didn’t know what to say to him, about the wings, about what had happened, about the fact he had heard Prompto planning to leave them and sacrifice his wings in hopes of healing him. It was just too much and that was without factoring in his sudden preoccupation with the fairy. 

Prompto had shown him the secret to his wings, how they shimmered like starlight and then vanished, leaving only an intricate tattoo that spanned most of his back, three sets of dragonfly like wings, and then asked him not to tell anyone else. He’d agreed, unable to refuse when Prompto looked at him with wide, fearful eyes, and he’d done just that. If the others found out it wouldn’t be from him. Not that he approved of keeping secrets, especially ones as big as this, but he was a man of his word.

Yet. Yet. Even though they weren’t speaking of it, were letting the secret lie between them, he thought of it often. The sight of Prompto’s wings, thin and beautiful, casting a rainbow of colors onto the walls when the light filtered through them, haunted him. 

He told himself he was just going because it was the right thing to do. Innocent people were being killed and stopping that was what he worked to do. It wasn’t about Prompto or the sudden fear that filled him at the thought of someone just grabbing random fairies off the street to pluck their wings, a literal death sentence. It wasn’t about the icy dread that gripped him when he imagined Prompto fading away as fairies did, returning to the moon and starlight they’d come from, in agony.

It wasn’t about that at all. 

\----

There were things that separated the human world from the daemon world. Magic. Willful ignorance and scepticism. And time. Most humans roamed during the day and slept at night and daemons, and humans in the know, crept around in the night. Most of them were built for that, vampires, succubi, shifters, spirits, and many of the Fey,  and those who weren't learned to be. They worked at night, indoor markets bustling with life, shops dim from the outside but bright when you stepped inside, schools welcoming their young ones with warm smiles, leaders meeting and planning. They played at night, walked darkened streets arm and arm, visited clubs, bars, and restaurants humans walked past without seeing, and some hunted under the starry sky. 

There was some overlap,  it was inevitable, but humans didn't see what they didn't want to see. Today was no exception; he and Ignis walked down the street, the setting sun painting the world in orange and pink, without so much as a second glance. Ignis had gleaming black horns like a ram, curled and thick, fangs, claw tipped fingers, and a spade tipped tail but anytime a human glanced at him their eyes slide away like they couldn't bare to look at him. Gladio had seen it happen hundreds of times but never experienced it himself yet now...now he saw it. No eye contact, no lingering looks, people just absently sidestepping him then frowning in confusion as they tried to figure out what had caused them to change their paths. The humans parted for him like waves against rocks and didn’t even know why.

As if some primal part of their brains knew him as something that preyed on their kind, a predator hiding in human skin, even though on the outside he was the same as he’d been before. Aside from his eyes. And a growth spurt that was alarming not in that he’d gained a lot of height, but in that it was happening at all. 

It was something of a relief to pass into Cindy’s bar, the familiar prickling of magic washing over him as they did. He’d been here before, the owner of the whole Station, Cid, was an old friend of Noct’s father and had remained loyal after Regis’ death. The station in general, made up of a bar, a diner, a all purpose store, and an auto-shop that doubled as a safehouse of sorts, wasn't much to look at. There was nothing but a bar, booths full of groups and couples, a few pool tables and dartboards, tvs playing sports, and an old jukebox playing equally old music to be seen in this section. It wasn't flashy or even all that nice to look at, bare walls, wobbly tables, scratched up wood and all, but it was warm. Friendly. Open to all. 

Cindy was behind the bar and had two beers waiting before they'd even made their way over to her. She had a smile ready but it dimmed around the edges when they got close and her eyes focused on Gladio. He saw shock pass over her face like a shadow and then she was smiling again.

“Two of my favorite boys! Looks like y’all’ve been busy.” 

Ignis snorted. “That is one way of putting it.” 

Gladio opted to say nothing. He picked up his beer, less interested in drinking it ad having something to do with his hands. They didn't seem to mind, launching into a quiet conversation about what they were doing at the bar that didn't need his input, and that left him to look around with new eyes. A degree of ‘sight’ had come with his bloodline and allowed him to identify daemons on sight, but without really seeing them as they were unless he knew them. They'd just looked like people with something ‘more, like a hazy outline of ‘not quite right’. 

Now however he could truly see everything. 

A fox spirit, three long tails falling behind her like a waterfall, playing pool with a deathly pale vamp who smelled faintly of blood and chemicals. An elf couple in a booth, pointed ears twitching and willowy bodies tilted towards each other, their bell like laughter filling the air. Four incubi throwing darts, shoving and showing their fangs teasingly as one of them completely missed the mark. A young nymph, leaf green hair threaded with flowers and feathers, and a harpy with rust colored plumage, tucked back in a dark corner, hands roaming and mouths touching.

Watching them, smiling and happy, made him ache for reasons he couldn’t put into words. But it was there even if he couldn’t say why, a heavy tightness in his chest that made it hard to breathe, a lump in his throat. 

“Gladio,” Ignis called as he pushed away from the counter. “If you would.” 

The bar had a few back rooms for various dealings. Spell working, feeding, all sorts of junk that couldn’t exactly be conducted around one’s human neighbors or roommates or family. The major feature was that while magic could be worked in the rooms, magic could not escape. It was that feature that made it, in some cases, handy for holding daemons who had information or had done something they shouldn’t. In this case it was holding a man with ocean blue eyes and seafoam green hair, cut close, with a furious scowl on his lips. He wasn’t chained or bound, there was no reason to do so when he was in the containment rooms, and was pacing furiously when they walked in. 

The door shut behind them, Cindy quietly informing them she’d been listening in out front. Gladio sat down at the table, the only thing in the room aside from the man, and eyed the daemon curiously. Ignis sat next to him, a perfectly friendly smile on his face.

“You’re one of Dino’s boys, aren’t you? Jason, right?” Male nymphs were rare, occurring only when a nymph had a child with a non-fey, something that was ‘frowned upon’ by most. If shifters were the bottom of the daemon hierarchy, and they were, then the Fey were at the top. Perfect beings, made by the Glacian out of star and moonlight, workers of nature magic and the only race capable of using life magic and purging the Starscourge. Even Noct’s necromancy, which made it possible for him to occasionally raise the dead, was nothing but a pale imitation to what the most powerful fey could do. 

The fey didn’t mix bloodlines, not so secretly considering themselves above all the rest. Halfbreeds were so rare that Gladio was certain he knew everyone in Insomnia by sight, if not by name. 

The nymph scowled at him. “So what if I am? He the one that told Cindy to lock me up in here?” 

Ignis shook his head, smiling wider. “No, that would be us. We’re doing a favor for Lady Lunafreya. I assume you’re familiar with her.” 

The man’s eyes flickered, darkened, and then he was shrugging, the picture of indifference as he oh so casually sank into the seat across from them. Gladio didn’t buy it. “Course, she’s the Fey Queen. Not sure what she’d want with a lowly mutt like me though. Thought the purebloods were still pretending we didn’t exist.” 

Ignis shot Gladio a look then shrugged. “There’s someone in the city de-winging fairies. I’m sure you can understand why that’s a matter of concern for the lady, considering how fatal that is. She’s had her brother running an investigation-” Gladio twitched. Ravus was in the city? And no one had told him. “And his sources suggest you might know a thing or two.”  

Jason laughed, high and shrill to Gladio’s ears, then stopped just as abruptly as he’d started, sunkissed skin losing all of it’s color. He blinked rapidly then looked away. “That sounds awful but I don’t know anything about that. The lady’s sources must be confused.” 

‘Decent liar’ was clearly not a description one would use for Jason. 

“I’m sure.” Ignis agreed easily. He stood up, straightening his blazer almost absently. “Gladio?” 

Gladio reached out, grabbed a handful of Jason’s hair, and slammed him face down onto the table with a sharp crack. Jason yelped and the ground trembled; the smell of sea salt filled the air. Jason reached out to grab at his wrist, digging his nails into his skin but before he could get much further Ignis leaned down to meet his angry gaze. 

“Stop. Calm down. Listen only to me. I want to speak to you, just the two of us.” Ignis crooned, voice soft and husky, intimate and full of promise. It resonated sweetly in the small room. He brushed a hand over Jason’s cheek. Jason flushed, going pink all the way up to his ears as he fell under Ignis’ sway, hand sliding away from Gladio’s wrist. 

Less than ten seconds to get him from angry to starry eyed. That had to be a new record; either Ignis had been practicing or Jason was especially weak minded. 

Gladio was leaning towards weak minded. 

“Don’t you want to talk to me?” Ignis asked, voice deep and velvet smooth. “Please?” 

“I...yeah.” 

Ignis beamed at him; if Gladio hadn’t known him as well as he did he would have missed the slightly mocking tilt to his lips. “Very good. Now, tell me the truth, are you killing the fairies.” 

This was one of Ignis’ more unique uses of his Incubus nature. If he could make someone want him enough he could make them tell him anything. And, if that didn’t work, he brought Gladio along to scare (or beat) it out of them. Not that Ignis wasn’t scary in his own right but that was a more subtle thing that not everyone could appreciate. 

Gladio threatening to cleave someone in half was the kind of frightening everyone could relate to. He had never been sure how to feel about that, he liked to think he was more than just a blunt instrument, but now it felt comforting. Familiar. An old dance; Gladio forced eye contact, Ignis took the reigns, he made sarcastic comments until he needed to punch something. 

Easy. 

“I...I can’t tell you that.” Jason mumbled, face crumpling in distress. “He’ll kill me. I can’t tell, I can’t.” 

Gladio cut his eyes to the side as he leaned back in his seat. “Saying you can’t tell is basically telling.” 

Ignis shot him a withering look and Jason moaned unhappily. A pat to the head from the Incubus had him not just calming back down but seeming to physically melt. Gladio curled his lip. Eww. Ignis had him sit back up then ran fingers along his arm, down to his palm, and back. 

“Jason. Who is this person who will kill you?” 

Blue eyes squinted into narrow slits. “I...I can’t. I want to but...I can’t.” 

Ignis clucked in disapproval. “Of course you can. You can tell me anything.” 

Jason shook his head. “You don’t understand. I *can’t*.” 

“Maybe he doesn’t know.” Gladio suggested lightly. “If I was going to hire this guy to kill people I wouldn’t tell him my name, would you?” Ignis quirked an eyebrow in silent question. “If he’s willing to sell out his own people then why-”

“They aren’t my people.” Jason’s eyes snapped over to him, fever bright with rage. 

Gladio snorted. “You’re fey, they were fey. It’s all the same.” 

Ignis frowned. “That’s a bit-” 

“The Fey! Blood obsessed assholes who turn their back on their own kind because they aren’t pure! They aren’t gods but they look down on everyone like they are!” Jason shouted, leaning towards Gladio. “They deserve everything they’re going to get! And so did those fairies. They act so superior but when you rip off their wings they just...give up. They don’t even scream.” 

“I think he’s taking the honesty request very seriously.” Ignis muttered, brows furrowing. “I may have overdone it.” 

“Or he’s an idiot.” 

“Well-”

“I see how it is.” The nymph said, lips twisting into a disgusted grimace. “You think because one us was desperate enough to take you to bed you’re better than me?” 

Gladio blinked, humor falling away. “I what now?” 

Glittering blue eyes narrowed as lips pulled back to show off teeth. “You didn’t think I would see it, did you? Thought a disgusting half breed wouldn’t be able to tell that some pathetic fairy had left their filthy mark on you?” 

Fairy? Mark? But the only fairy who’d been near him lately was Prompto and he sure as hell hadn’t left any marks on him. Had he? Gladio peered down at his arms and torso as if some mark he hadn’t noticed before would jump out of him but all he saw where his tattooes and old scars. A glance at Ignis found him frowning slightly. 

Thin hands slammed against the table and the ground quaked, drawing Gladio’s attention back to the nymph. “You’re a dog, an animal, a stupid pet on two legs who thinks he’s more than he is because he gets to fuck his master! It’s vile!” Jason was working himself up into a state, eyes bulging and spit flying from his mouth. Gladio just stared. 

Ignis stood up a little straighter. “I would stop if I was-”

“If I had known there was a fairy like that out there, willing to spread their legs for shifter trash, I would have started with them. I would have torn the wings from your slut’s back and left them-” 

The hand that grabbed Jason by the throat was large, frying pan sized, and covered in thick black fur. Gladio felt his body ripple and twist, was aware of distant pain as he saw tanned skin burst open as more coarse fur forced its way to the surface. Claws cut through his flesh, tore his nails out of place.There was a sound of something pattering against the ground as the nails fell away, accompanied by flares of pain somewhere on the edge of his brain. 

“Or,” Someone sighed. “You could do that.”

Red washed over the world, bleeding into everything, and a steady drumbeat bounded in his ears. Something roared and Gladio knew nothing else. 

When the world came back he found himself outside of the room, back in the hallway, held down by an exasperated looking Ignis. He was, he realized with dawning horror, splattered with blood from fingertip to elbow, had flecks of it and something else that he didn’t want to think about over his chest and drying under his nails. 

His mouth tasted of metal and bitterness.

“I think.” Ignis drawled as he removed his knee from where it was digging into Gladio’s back. “We will not tell Prompto you tore out a man’s throat for insulting him. ...also you should refrain from mentioning I’m aware he’s fey. Noctis is very insistent Prompto come clean in his own time.” 

“I-” Gladio started, eyes dropping back to his hands.

“We were going to have to kill him anyway. You know that.” Ignis said, frowning at him. Gladio wondered, not for the first time, if psychic ability was another talent Incubi had. “While learning more about who had hired him would have been nice-” Gladio winced. “I’m not all that convinced he would have told us much.” 

Gladio’s swallowed once, twice, told himself to not think about the sickly sweet film coating the inside of his mouth, and nodded. He felt like...like he should be more bothered. He’d just blacked out, was covered in blood, he’d...he’d torn out someone’s throat? But he felt perfectly calm, all of the confusion and anger in him drained away to leave not much of anything in his wake. That couldn't be a good sign. Was he in shock? Or was it something else?

Ignis’ almost casual tone and seemingly dismissal of the situation helped to further ground him (though, to be fair, Incubi had an odd sense of what was and wasn’t important or worthy of attention that most others wouldn’t subscribe to.) He let himself be hauled to his feet, frowning anxiously at the blood on his skin, and nodded again.

“Okay.” 

Ignis nodded back then, casting a look towards the door behind them, added. “On a related note I am fairly certain you are something larger than a wolf.”

"...how much bigger are we talking?" 

"Much." 

**Author's Note:**

> *shrugs*


End file.
